


Trevelyan's Lion Heart

by RogueLioness



Series: Trevelyan's Lion Heart [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, implied PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25683358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueLioness/pseuds/RogueLioness
Summary: A series of drabbles featuring Amaryllis Trevelyan and the man she loves.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Series: Trevelyan's Lion Heart [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/594661
Kudos: 2





	1. Her lion, her rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He keeps her grounded when she feels like she’s falling apart.

“You’re staring.” she stated flatly, having felt his gaze on her from the time he’d slipped in to the war room, where she’d been staring at the massive map littered with markers of all kinds. She’d been desperate for answers; so little made sense in this madcap world, and failure was something she could not avoid, it would be disastrous if she was unsuccessful, there were too many people relying on her…

“And you’re brooding,” he said quietly, before shifting to stand by her side. “Anything I can help with?”

“Not really.” She gnawed on her lip. _Should I travel to the Exalted Plains first, or should I meet this Fairbanks? Did I do the right thing by listening to Sera and sending that battalion to Verchiel? Maker, I know Dorian wants me to travel with him to Redcliffe, but I don’t know if I have the time… but he’s my best friend, how can I let him down?_

_“_ Amaryllis.” The command in his tone had her turning to face him. He laced his fingers with hers, and brought her hands up to his lips, placing soft kisses along her knuckles. “Talk to me, love. Let me in.”

She sagged against him. “There’s so much to _do_ , Cullen,” she began. “And there’s no room for mistakes. What if I fail? What if the decisions I make only make our situation worse? Am I doing the right thing? So many people look up to me, I can’t let them down…”

He drew her to him, cradling her head to his chest. The scent of him, warm, familiar and distinctly masculine soothed her, and she exhaled slowly.

“You’re doing the right thing,” he reassured her. “And you’re not alone, love. We’re all here with you. You’re not letting anyone down. Think of all the good you’ve done, sweetheart. Without your help, the refugees in the Hinterlands would still be starving. They’d still be suffering. Look at the village of Crestwood. You closed the rift for them, saved them from the undead. You’re doing the right thing, love. You are.”

She let his words wash over her, and they were a soothing balm, easing away her worries, focusing instead on how the baritone of his voice resonated through her chest, till it felt like she was _feeling_ his words, not just listening to them.

“I know what you need,” he said decisively after they’d stood, locked in embrace, for several minutes.

“What?”

“Trust me?”

She looked up at him, fingers itching to trace the scar on his lip. His eyes were like molten amber, and they were so welcoming… “Always.”

He smiled at that, a crooked smile, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard. It made her heart ache for a moment, knowing that he thought himself unworthy of her love. Itching to banish the uncertainty, she stood up on tip toes, pressing her lips to him in a bid to push into him all the love she held in her heart.

It seemed to work. His fingers twitched against her back, then gripped her coat almost painfully tight, crushing her to him as he deepened the kiss. She would never tire of it, never tire of the way he held her - as though he feared she were smoke and would slip away between his fingers.

_I’m here. I’m real. And I love you_ _._ Her heart hammered out the words, and his caught them.

He pulled away from her, eyes shining bright in the dimly lit room. “Come on,” he coaxed, tugging at her arm. 

She followed him obediently, laughing as they climbed down the stairs towards the kitchens. “What are we doing here?” she asked as he pushed open the kitchen door.

“You need a distraction,” he stated plainly, “and I have a good one in mind.”

“What?” she asked curiously.

“Baking.”

“Baking?” 

“Yes.” He pulled her through the entrance, into a surprisingly empty kitchen. “It’s only going to be ours for an hour or two,” he admitted, “but I know how much you loved my sister’s caramel pie. She gave me the recipe, and I thought…” he trailed off, looking sheepish.

“Oh, Cullen,” she replied, impossibly touched. She moved to the counter which held all the ingredients they’d need. Reaching into a bowl, she held up an egg for inspection. “So,” she asked, a smile on her face, troubles long-forgotten, “how many of these do I need?”


	2. Heart and home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s worse for wear, but will not wait to get back to him.

Her knees give out and she buckles to the hard, rocky ground, grunting as a fresh wave of pain hits her.

It is over at last. Corypheus will no longer threaten Thedas.

She is battered beyond belief; bruised in places she did not know she had, her armor so soaked in blood that no trace remains of its original color. She closes her eyes; she is in so much pain that death would be a mercy.

Her breathing slows.

Her mind starts to drift away.

Cullen’s face flashes beneath her lids, and her eyes instantly fly open.

She cannot give up. Not now, not when she knows he is waiting for her.

Bull’s hands slide under her knees, knocking into a particularly nasty gash, and she cries out. He apologizes, and returns to his task more carefully, handling her with the strange kind of delicateness that she associates with him. 

“You okay, Boss?” he asks in that gruff way of his.

She sputters out a weak laugh, wincing as a sharp ache rocks her ribs. “I’m still breathing, aren’t I?”

“That’ll do,” he replies cheerfully. “Kadan!” he bellows out, and she winces at how _loud_ and _grating_ it is. “You got some potions on you?”

“ _Kaffas,_ you big oaf,” Dorian grumbles, but there’s no heat to his words. “Could you _possibly_ be _somewhat_ gentle with her?”

Bull deposits her on the bedroll, and she’s never been happier to be in one. Compared to the rocky terrain of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the thin cotton-and-wool stuffed sleeping bag is a welcome softness.

Dorian props her head up with a rucksack, and there’s a slight _pop!_ as a cork is pulled out of a bottle. “Drink,” he orders as he places it against her lips, and it takes a surprising amount of effort for Amaryllis to part her lips and swallow the pungent, herb-y potion.

A little goes down her throat the wrong way, and she begins to cough violently, each cough bringing with it a stinging agony. When she’s done, her face is wet with tears, and she’s seriously tempted to tell them all to fuck off and leave her alone.

The Tevinter mage grouses at her. “ _Venhedis_ , woman! The next time you go into battle I highly suggest you _avoid_ getting hit.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I face an ancient darkspawn magister,” she snarks in return.

They glower at each other, but Amaryllis can see the concern in Dorian’s eyes.

_Shit_. If he’s this concerned, her wounds must be pretty bad. Dorian is skilled at many things, but healing is not his forte.

“Will she be able to travel, Dorian?” Cassandra’s crisp voice cuts through the tension.

“If we move as slowly as possible, yes,” he replies. His response does not make her happy.

She wants to get back to Cullen as soon as she can.

“For fuck’s sake,” she complains, “just knock me out, and get moving, so we can get back to Skyhold and to the healers!”

Bull smirks. “You sure it’s the _healers_ you want to get back to, Boss?”

“Eat shit, Bull.”

Her companions aren’t happy, but they cannot argue that it is a smart decision. They all need healing, and potions and poultices can only do so much.

It takes two weeks before she spies Skyhold’s walls, and her heart starts to race when her eyes land on a familiar tower. She has recovered enough to be able to walk short distances without aid, though it takes a great deal of energy. Still, she is aware that appearances must be kept up - the Inquisitor must appear to be strong and triumphant - and so she strides into Skyhold with her head held high to the sound of thunderous cheers.

The short walk through the lower bailey has already exhausted her; she’s about to ask Bull to carry her when she catches sight of him.

Commander Cullen Rutherford, leader of the Inquisition forces.

_Her_ Cullen.

Joy brings a fresh burst of energy to her tired limbs, and she’s soon climbing up the myriad stairs towards him. She all but falls into his arms, sighing with relieved happiness as his arms surround her form and the familiar scent of him invades her senses.

“Welcome home,” he whispers huskily into her ear, and she smiles.

He is home.


	3. Reminders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amaryllis is reminded of what’s most important to her.

The scent of freshly-cut grass greeted Amaryllis as she neared the gates of their modest homestead, heady and earthy, sweet and loamy. It brought a smile to her face, a smile that grew wider as she saw Harold, their mabari, bound joyfully towards her. **  
**

[She’d insisted on calling him that at the start of the Exalted Council. When she’d disbanded the Inquisition she’d hated the name - it reminding her too much of all she’d been through, _and for what?_ \- but Cullen had taken her face between his hands, kissed her gently, and told her Harold was the perfect name.]

She steadied herself, waiting for the moment he would leap up on her - and even though she had, it made no difference as the mabari danced around her, once his paws were on her shoulders ( _Maker, **when** had he grown so big?!!)_ he took her down.

She was still laughing, Harold slobbering on her in an attempt to lick her everywhere he could reach, tail wagging a thousand miles an hour, when Cullen reached them.

“How was the meeting?” he asked with a smile, reaching down to help her up.

Amaryllis stood, brushing off clumps of mud from her pants, sighing as she did so. “Leliana thinks she’s found a lead…”

“But?” he prompted.

“But apparently, I can’t go,” she replied morosely. “Because-” she gestured at her left arm which stopped at the elbow, “ _this_ means I’m too _recognizable_.”

“Ah.” Cullen took her into his arms. “Your deeds are legendary, my love,” he murmured against her cheek, his hands stroking up and down her back comfortingly. “It isn’t the arm that makes you recognizable. It’s you. Amaryllis Trevelyan, dragonslayer, the strongest woman I know. _That_ is what makes you recognizable.”

She sagged against him slightly. Though she didn’t fully believe his words, his quiet, unshakeable confidence in her soothed her worn self-esteem.

“I was about to take Harold for a walk,” Cullen broke the silence several minutes later. “I know you must be tired from your journey, but do you want to join us?”

“Oh, yes,” she smiled.

They walked the familiar trail from their farm to the river nearby, the mabari following at their side obediently - for the most part - quietly - and contentedly - listening to the rustle of leaves, the crickets chirping in the trees; feeling the breeze - cool, and lacking the sticky humidity this time of the evening - brush up against their faces, like a lover’s caress. Cullen reached out and caught hold of his wife’s hand, twining his fingers with hers, that broad smile she so adored on his face as he watched Harold chase after a fennec fox.

The sun was low in the horizon, the sky lit up with shades of orange and pink that blended out into purples and the blues of twilight. She could smell the woods on him - cedar, with the leather and sweat that was uniquely his.

They stopped at the banks of the river, rolling up their breeches to step into the water, laughing as they did so. Unable to resist, she reached down and gathered a scoopful of water in her hands, splashing him with it, shrieking in amusement when he retaliated, Harold running around their legs, so very intent on joining in on the excitement.

She watched as Cullen - with the help of their trusty, loveable mabari - searched fo a stick to play with, and her heart swelled with love even as the tensions and stresses of the meeting with Leliana drifted away. This moment, with all the love it held - with all the love it inspired in her - it reminded her of all she had, and all she would fight to preserve.

She had fought hard for this, her home, and she would not give it up so easily.


End file.
